Tag Archives: beanie babies

Girl, I’m Gonna Get Your Goat

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Look at you over there. Sexy as hell with you’re chunky biscuit booty poppin’ out your jean cutoffs. Look at you with them thick trumpet-playin’ lips dripping with Dr. Thunder flavored chapstick. Glistening like two slugs 69ing each other. I never thought anyone could combine my two favorite things, the discount beverage Dr. Thunder and watching slugs do the dirty, so effortlessly. With such poise. Such grace. Reminds me of Princess Dianna. The Beanie Baby, not the dead lady. Just as a general rule of thumb, from now on when I refer to Princess Dianna, assume that I am talking about the Beanie Baby.

Cuz those things are retired and worth their weight in Gold Bond © and I’ve got 25 of those fuckers vacuum sealed in the bottom of my closet at my GramGram’s house. TAGS ON. All I have to do is sign onto dad’s AOL account and go to AOL Marketplace and let everybody know that I’ve got 25 SUPER RARE PRINCESS DIANNAS with the tags still on and people are going to wig the fuck out of their fucking wigs. There’s going to be rioting in the streets. People flipping cars and setting homeless guys aflame. Police brutalizing minorities. Gay guys doing butt stuff. Someone dookie-dooing in the drinking fountains. The whole kit and caboodle.  The only thing maintaining the delicate stability of society is me keeping those Princess Diannas hidden away at my GramGram’s house. Like, does that make me some sort of hero or something? Yeah, I guess it does. I’m the last hope. I am what Gotham needs me to be. But enough about me and how I’m the only thing standing in the way complete anarchy, let’s talk about you.

Wit cho gums all intact and yo teef lookin’ reeeeal foine. Gingivitis can be a motherfucker, but it ain’t got shit on you, girl. You must brush yo shit like at least three times a day. After every meal. Like our lord God, Jesus of Nazareth intended. “And then the Lord appeared to Jacob and said ‘you gotta brush dem shits like 3 times a day. After every meal. I can be a little lenient when it comes to lunch and din-din, but you gotta brush dem shits in the mornin’ cuz yo breath be kickin’ like Ken and Ryu.” – Deuteronomy 36:25. Doing the Deut. Brushing for the Lord.

And look at you with those two dumpy bosoms. Pendulous old bean bag titties. What are they filled with sand? Hell yes. That shit sexy as hell. I love sand. Reminds me of going to the beach and catching fiddler crabs. They so crazy. Lil’ scuttle bugs is all they are. And all they eat is seaweed so their bods are ripped to shreds. I’ve heard Matt McConaughey is on the fiddler crab diet. Just seaweed, sand, salt water, and you’ve got to scuttle around for like 5 hours a day. Have you seen him with his shirt off? Looks like a fucking torched ass crab with silver dollar nipples. Speaking of, you know how fiddler crabs are incongruent? They got that that one baby claw and one big claw? Very reminiscent of your droopy bubbers. One big. One small. Them sandy, fiddler crab titties making me feel like Jimmy Buffet or something.

And look at you with them sexy azz ankle socks. You a dirty bitch and ya mom bad too. The one on your left foot stops just below a tattoo of a broken, battered, and bleeding Ryan Reynolds circa 1998 when Two Guys, A Girl, and A Pizza Place was ownin’ the television airwaves. Whatever happened to that Pizza Place? Haven’t seen it in anything good recently. Probably got addicted to huffing gas like all the other child tv stars and now bags groceries at Piggly Wiggly.  The sock on ya right foot don’t even match the left one and that’s bout to tear me up. I love how you purposefully mismatched em cuz you know I damn near bust out my cords when I see dat shit. Shit’s got a hole in it and urrythang. Just Clay Achin’ for me to lick your ashy, cracked heel. Shit’s makin’ me so hard.

And girl, look at frumpy lil dumper. I say god damn, god damn, child. That’s the skinniest little booty-hiney-hole I’ve seen in all my days. Your booboos must come out looking like Sour Straws or something. So skeeeeeeeenny! I’ve seen tic-tacs with more circumference than that booty-hiney-hole. Like those little orange ones? Those things got less the 2 calories. That fanny lookin’ watertight. Like a duck’s back. You got that duck-back-booty, ho. Got that quack back. Them fowl bowels. Lil mama got a Duck Tail. aWOOooo!

Damn girl, I’m gonna get your goat.

I’m Famous As Shit.

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This is it. I finally got my big break.

See, I started out my day just like I start out everyday: I woke up at 1:30, threw up in the sink, did a handful of side lunges and arm circles to get my ligaments feeling loose, and got in my car to go get some chicken. I am just driving around enjoying my chicken when I look to the car next to me. And I’ll be god damned if it wasn’t the Google Maps street car with a big pole on the top and like 3 camera’s looking right at me. Click, click, clickity, clack, motherfucker. Me, drumstick in hand. Straight to the Google. I am immortalized. Do you know how many people look at Google per second? I’m giving it 2 weeks until the C.E.O of Church’s Chicken, Father Terry O’Houlahan is giving me a ringy-dingy to make me the new face of fried chicken. Colonel Sanders can eat my pussy. He’s a big old bitch baby compared to yours truly. He’s history. Like Bin Laden and holding open the door for women and mexicans.

To all those motherfuckers who ever doubted me and said I’d never amount to a hill of shit, fuck you. Mom, Dad- fuck you. Coach Sanderson- fuck you. Gramma Esther- fuck you, you’re not even my real gramma you old bitch. Go break a hip and make some potato soup or whatever it is you do all fucking day. And for fuck’s sake STOP COLLECTING BEANIE BABIES! It’s two thousand motherfucking eleven. And most of all, Allison Hester- fuck you, you dirty slut. I loved you since the 7th grade and you never gave a shit about me. I joined the football team specifically because I knew you loved fucking football players. I was hoping that maybe if I sat on the bench for a week, you would let me pound it out under the bleachers and you would realize that we had this real connection and you’d let me cum in your retainer. But no, you literally had sex with everyone on the football team but me, including Coach Sanderson, Assistant Coach Nichols, and Mr. Craigs, the 75 year old janitor. Fuck you Allison Hester. Don’t come crawling to me, begging to give me a slob job in my jacuzzi after my face is plastered on every Church’s cup from here to Roanoke.

First thing I’m gonna do when I get famous is make an album with Jay-Z called “Steve Jobs Ain’t Shit.” This album is gonna be my outlet to talk about real shit that matters to me like child prostitutes, smoking salvia and hanging out with my cousin Brucey. He’s in a wheelchair, but he is still cool like a regular person.  Like, he doesn’t shit on himself and embarass me at parties or nothin’. I’m gonna be saying stuff like “Wake up earthlings! Sitting in a wheelchair don’t make you a bitch!” and then I’ll say something else that rhymes with that. Cuz like, Brucey has been the only one that has been there for me through thick and thin and you better believe that when I’m a big celebrity or whatever, I’m bringing Brucey with me. You know how Kid Rock had a little midget that everybody thought was his retarded white trash son at first, until we realized it was his miniature assistant? Well, Brucey : Me :: Midget Assistant: Kid Rock.

My love for handicapped people will further fan the flames of fame. They’ll probably ask me to host the Special Olympics. It’s like Brangelina and all those kids they adopted with AIDs. They only got MORE famous because people saw that they had heart and weren’t afraid of some sick kids from Africa or whatever.

Second thing I’m gonna do when I get famous is break up with my girlfriend and screw some bubble butt bitch and give her burns on her knees from tit-fucking her doggy-style on my brand new, state of the art, clay tennis courts.

Third thing I’m gonna do is open up a Roth IRA account. So many celebs have the problem of blowing all their money wads on nose whiskey and nights on the town with Ashton Kutcher and genital reconstructive surgery and pet rhinoceroses with gold tipped horns and VIP tickets to Coldplay concerts and out of court settlements to all the parents of the children I punctured and lavish lawnscaping. If you’re not careful you’ll end up spending the later part of your career doing VH1 reality TV just to pay the bills. I’m going to do the smart thing and save some for retirement. Plus what I really like about the Roth accounts is that they are tax free. Cuz I’m all like “fuck taxes.”

What I Want for Christmas

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Motherfuckin’ Beanie Babies.

I want Valentino. I want the Princess Diana. I want Erin. I want Garcia. I want Holiday Teddy. I want B.B. Bear. I want Peace Bear. I want 2K. I want Glory. I want Halo. I want Rolando. I want Bearrison Ford. I want Bearrie Underwood. I want Upton Sinbear. I don’t want that rabbit up at the top though. I already have two of that asshole – Hippity and Hoppity, those are like little fucking baby toys.

These guys are retired and really really rare so you gotta make sure you get me the ones WITH THE TAGS STILL ON. If you come across a Beanie Baby without it’s tag, it probably has the HIV and can’t be trusted with a needle. These aren’t my types of Beanie Babies. Tags ON people.

Everybody gets the Beanie Buzz around the holiday season because they make such great gifts. From little suckling bambinos to old people who are about to die, you can’t go wrong with a Beanie. However, you have to be careful because terrorists and Mexicans are always smuggling fake beanie babies over the border. Because they hate our country and are jealous of all the great things we have. Like authentic HIV-negative TY© Beanie Babies with the tags still on. Here’s a quick video to help you spot counterfeit HIV beanies.

Now you’re sitting there thinking, “what do you even plan on doing with Beanie Babies? They serve no real purpose.” I know you’re sitting there thinking this because I just got these bitchin’ new bi-noc-u-lars for Thanksgiving. No real purpose? Ever positioned two Beanie Babies to make it look they are doing the ole brown town shuffle? You ever take Bearry Seinfeld’s paws and make it look like it’s giving Bearry the Cable Bear a rough two handed blowjizzle? You ever run out of toilet paper and the only thing in the bathroom are your roommate’s cat and the commemorative all-white Cher Bear? Don’t waste my time.

Thank you. And Merry fucking Christmas.